


Please

by orphan_account



Category: Hetalia - Fandom, Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/F, F/M, M/M, potential nsfw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-26
Updated: 2013-10-26
Packaged: 2017-12-30 13:20:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1019086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of PruCan shorts too small to publish on their own. Enjoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Please

Your breath steams in the frost-wrought air, writhing clouds of smoke dispersing into wraithlike wisps that fracture the scant beams of sunlight slanting through the gaps in the barn’s ceiling.

The man in your arms groans for the intrusive light, pressing his face firmly into the deflated pads of your parka; one tentative finger smooths the cowlick spiraling up from waves of flaxen hair, a gentle admonishment to _hush_.

He groans again, scrabbling at your shoulders, caught in the midst of another night terror; they come far more frequently these days. You fervently wish for rest. You steady him with one hand against the small of his back, the other coming to rest against the prominent curve of his cheekbone; the pad of your thumb strokes his eyelid. His fingers, hooked and clawing, slow, slow.

You gust a weary sigh for the answering groans that commence when he whimpers, smoothing your hand through his hair; a sheen of sweat glistens on his forehead, soon to be crackling with frost. The echoing _toom-toom_ of eager fists upon splintering plywood jolts him into wakefulness, and he watches with a hazy, primal fear as the plank laid through the doorhandles bulges inward, cracks already spiderwebbing its surface.

You twine your fingers through his, squeezing a tentative reassurance.

_We’re going to die_ , you think.

"We’ll be all right," you croak, a thin smile curving your lips for the reproach that turns his own down. You grope for your sidearm, hacking a harsh laugh for the clck-clck of an empty clip. He shifts, curling soft and sinuous through your arms, one hand braced against your shoulder.

The pounding reaches a fevered pitch.

Your eyes slide shut as the plank bursts apart, splinters raining over the weathered floor with a hollow _tk-tk-tk_ ; you hear him whisper fervent love as rapid footsteps spell your end.


End file.
